


The Curious Case of Sex, Denial, and Love

by tanyart



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Humor, M/M, physiology is overrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex in all its inconvenient glory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of Sex, Denial, and Love

Something was going wrong. All Sniper ever wanted from Spy was a good fuck every now and then, just to relieve stress and have a bit of fun. Spy, in most cases, was always willing to oblige, never asking for anything more that what was strictly necessary, though Sniper frequently had to tell himself that snuggling after sex was a purely _natural_ reaction—natural and comfortable and warm, probably caused by post-orgasm sleepiness. Besides, it wasn’t like Spy minded, and despite being co-workers and fuck-buddies, it never got awkward between them. They were both professionals; work was work, and sex was sex. The two rarely intermingled. Whatever they did during their off-time was kept out of their jobs, and if Sniper had to take a guess, he assumed Spy would most likely just be as adamant as he was about it.

He imagined that was why he respected Spy, more so than the other people on the team. Approaching the Frenchman had been easy; well as easy as such a thing would ever be. Sniper requested and Spy delivered, quite handsomely too, and it quickly turned into an arrangement of sorts. One of the best benefits from it was that Sniper never worried about becoming too attached; it was far from becoming a habitual thing. Once a week, maybe, and then there was that time when a whole month passed by and all that was ever exchanged between them was the occasional greeting or friendly smile. No strings or ties. In a way, it was healthy. Or, at least, Sniper thought it was. But the whole bloody mess started one night, just the usual standard fuck in his nest, nothing particularly special about it.

Only—they didn’t stop. _Couldn’t_ stop.

Spy had rolled to the side, completely naked and seemingly content to just lay there for the rest of the night. Sniper didn’t care. Either way, they’d be up in the morning to prepare for the day’s battle and whatever was more convenient for Spy suited Sniper just fine.

“You staying?” he asked, just to make sure.

“If you do not mind,” Spy replied, in all ways a gentleman. Scooting over, Sniper made room on the bed as Spy wiggled his way under the blankets. Honestly, Sniper did not know what prompted either of them, but suddenly Spy was _not_ underneath the sheets, and Sniper was obviously _not_ getting ready to sleep.

So what, it happened before. Twice in one night. It usually was the case after a frustrating day or something, but Sniper couldn’t recall having any bad shots and Spy didn’t mention any failed attempts to backstab anyone. It didn’t happen often—face it, they were both too good at their jobs—but it wasn’t anything new.

What was really weird, though, was after the third time. Sniper should have found that suspicious, but Spy had already been dragging him up for a fourth go, and who was Sniper to say no to a blowjob? In fact, sometime between coming into Spy’s mouth and pressing his face into the pillow, he reasoned that _no one_ could say no to a blowjob—so he simply turned around and went down on Spy too.

And if they had gotten any sleep that night, Sniper didn’t feel it in the morning. He woke up drowsy and aching all over and probably would have been a little cranky if Spy hadn’t already been up, yawning into his fist and blinking dazedly at the clock.

“We’re going to be late,” Spy said, sounding concerned. He stood, glancing around for his clothes. Sniper looked at the clock and also sat up, rubbing the gunk from his eyes and feeling extremely sluggish. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the next ten hours hunched over his rifle.

It was unprofessional, he knew. He should have bolted out of bed right away, but he was tired and maybe it was his imagination, but he had this crazy idea that Spy wasn’t _really_ looking for his clothes, only angling his body in certain positions that abruptly made Sniper not so sleepy.

“I can’t find my shirt,” Spy explained half-heartedly.

Well, Sniper could take a hint.

“Come here,” he growled, aches and fatigue forgotten, and Spy cheerfully hopped right back into bed.

  


* * *

  


  
It happened three more times before they were able to pull themselves away. Sniper was actually becoming distressed because, dear god, _three more times_. In the _same_ morning. Spy finally found his blasted shirt, appearing a little desperate to get back to work, or at least _stop_. He pulled on his clothes with unusual carelessness and pretty much sprinted out the door with a muttered “bye” and “thanks.”

Sniper stared after him, the horror of what just happened slowly dawning on him. Did he just seriously waste half the day having sex with Spy? Half a day? That was at least five missed kills there, not to mention what Spy could have done by then too. Cursing under his breath, Sniper dressed quickly and tried to make up for lost time. The water tower was a good spot to shoot, though the cover was terrible. Sniper decided to risk it for the sake of being efficient.

Standing at the rail and waiting for the enemy to appear, Sniper allowed his mind to wonder about what happened that morning. It was all levels of strange, staying in bed to skip out on work. With Spy, no less. Sniper could forgive himself for taking a few unscheduled days off if he wasn’t feeling well, but he thought it was wildly out of character for Spy to do the same. The other man had always left on time after spending a night in Sniper’s nest and Sniper could not remember there ever being a day when Spy wasn’t working when he was supposed to be. Sniper would have dwelled on it more, but the enemy Engineer flitted into view and he was desperate to rack up some kills.

The rest of the day passed by with its usual speed, perhaps even faster now that Sniper could amuse himself by puzzling over their odd behavior. He came to the conclusion that both he and Spy probably had a rare lapse in judgment, an unexpected break within their professional bubbles. Sniper didn’t feel any different, so he assumed that it was probably a one-time thing. It wouldn’t happen again.

After putting away his rifle and hitting the showers, he came down for dinner. Demoman was baking something that smelled wonderful in the oven and Spy was setting the table with Soldier and Medic. Everyone else lounged around, talking and laughing.

“Hey,” Sniper greeted, taking his usual seat next to Pyro.

“Hrrw wrrs urr drr?” asked Pyro.

“Oh,” Sniper replied, frowning, “Had a slow start for some reason, but the rest of it went well enough.” He wasn’t taking an accusing tone, more bemused than anything else.

“Lrrk Sprry trr,” Pyro observed, turning his head towards the man in question.

“Just one of those days, I suppose,” Spy said, sounding a little irritated. He handed Pyro a plate, exchanging a what-can-you-do-about-it glance with Sniper.

In context, that was all that glance was. Yet for some unfathomable reason, Sniper swore that it had _COME-HITHER_ written all over it. Oh, it was definitely the come-hither look; narrowed gaze, cocked eyebrow, head slightly tilted upwards. Okay, maybe eye-rolling wasn’t one of them, but Sniper was not in the mood for details, and feeling the blood rush down to his lower regions was definitely not helping things along.

“Uh,” he said, shifting awkwardly in his seat. He did not take his eyes off Spy, who, for another unexplainable reason, was loosening his tie.

“Irr srrmmph rr mrrtrr?” Pyro asked, looking between Sniper and Spy. Even through the gasmask, it was clear that Pyro was uncomfortable.

“I’m not feeling well,” Spy said weakly, “…A bit hot.”

Sniper was shamefully quick to pick up on Spy’s cue. He stood up, nearly knocking his chair clear over, and grabbed Spy’s arm. “Maybe it’s a fever, mate, I’ll take you to Medic—”

“—I’m right here,” Medic said from across the table.

“Er, he doesn’t feel that hot,” Sniper hastily corrected himself and made the stupid mistake of laying his hand over Spy’s forehead. Spy all but melted at his touch, leaning in close and giving a soft, wanting moan. Not only that, but the heat from his body was driving Sniper mad. His grip on Spy grew tighter. Had they been alone, Sniper was pretty sure he would have thrown Spy on the table and screwed him right there.

“Woah there, Spy,” he said hoarsely, “I’ll just take you to your room.”

He couldn’t even look at the rest of the team as he dragged Spy out of the kitchen, but he could imagine what they were thinking. None of them were especially dumb. The worst thing that could possibly happen was his sex life bleeding into his professional rep.

And Sniper thought this. Yes, he did. He thought it was highly unprofessional and way below his standards, even as he pried open Spy’s door and yanked Spy’s pants down before knocking the Frenchman to the floor, because he damn well couldn’t wait long enough to walk over to the bed.

Thankfully, they fell asleep after that. Well, after doing it twice, which was an improvement. Unfortunately, Sniper woke in the middle of the night, stomach growling. He sat up, rubbing his arms idly and feeling the carpet imprints on his skin. Spy had moved from the ground to sleep on his own bed, but he had thrown a blanket over Sniper.

Quietly pushing the blanket off, Sniper placed it neatly to the side and stood up. Great. He’d missed dinner. Not wanting to wake up Spy—good Lord, he’d _better_ not wake up Spy—he managed to find his trousers in the dark and put them on. Maybe there would be leftovers.

When he got to the kitchen, Sniper was happy to find that Demoman had made a giant pot pie that even Heavy didn’t manage to finish off. Taking a generous piece for himself, Sniper popped the slice into the microwave oven—funny, convenient things—and pretty soon he was devouring his second helping.

“Is there any left?” Sniper turned around, finding Spy hanging cautiously back. The man was fully dressed, right down to the jacket and tie. Sniper took one long look and was relieved to find that his body was behaving itself. Nodding, he gestured to the pie.

“There’s plenty,” he said, and scooped up some of the filling with his finger and licked it clean.

Spy stared, almost accusingly.

Sniper hadn’t even realized what he was doing and quickly stopped. “Aw, shit. I didn’t mean—“

His protests didn’t get very far, nor did his apologies. And Sniper was unhappy to find that they ended up screwing on the kitchen table after all.

* * *

Sniper gave a groan when he ran into Spy in the hallway. He did not have time for this, neither of them did. Three days had gone by of constant fucking and screwing and it was beginning to take a toll on their daily activities. Sniper couldn’t even find five minutes to have his own mind to himself. He was always worried that he’d bump into Spy, and that lead him to thinking about the damn, sexy bastard, and then Sniper would have to go out of his way to find Spy and shove him against the wall, hips grinding hard and fast.

“This is becoming a problem,” Spy said, pulling Sniper’s shirt off.

“Yeah, you think?” Sniper drawled sarcastically, and hungrily bit into Spy’s collar bone. Spy gave a thin whine and before Sniper knew it, he was murmuring, “Mine, mine, _mine_.”

Spy twitched, turning his head and croaking, “What did you just say?”

Sniper jerked back, flushing red. He couldn’t deny that their sex had been becoming increasingly passionate lately. It was hard not to get caught up in it all, especially when Spy started leaving marks all over his body. Before now, everything had been pretty vanilla with minimal endearments or kinks. Sniper had always been satisfied with just sticking his cock into Spy, and giving or receiving the occasional blowjob. Although, there was that one time when Spy had tied him to the bed, it didn’t go very well then, but now Sniper thought it was a good time as any to try it again.

“I said I wanted you to bind and gag me like a wild animal, and ride me until we can’t even fucking move anymore.”

“That is certainly not want you said,” Spy scoffed, but he had deftly grabbed on to Sniper’s wrists and held them up, grinning wickedly.

Sniper pretended to think about it, “Close enough?”

“Close enough.”

 

  


* * *

  


  
Hours later they were in Sniper’s bed, covered in sweat and panting heavily. They had at least a foot of space between them, and Sniper started to feel extremely troubled. This… this was not normal. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t biologically and physically possible anymore. He glanced at Spy, but the other man turned away, pulling his balaclava a little higher so that it covered his eyes and mouth and dark tufts of his hair were poking out.

“Just. Just don’t even _look_ at me.”

Sniper obediently flipped over. It wasn’t like he was revving to go again anytime soon, “Bloody hell, I can’t even feel my legs.”

“You’re the one who asked for it,” Spy groaned, rolling off the bed with an undignified thump. Sniper heard some shuffling and a few minutes passed by before Spy poked his side with a piece of folded paper.

“My schedule—_non_, don’t you _dare_ turn around yet—just avoid these places and I think we’ll be fine,” Spy said, “Hopefully it’ll wear off.”

Sniper reached over and took the paper, reading it over. “Right.” He skimmed over Spy’s work schedule; it was Spy’s off-hours that Sniper had to worry about.

“We are not allowed to see each other until… whatever this is… is over, comprendre?”

Sniper snuggled deeper within his bed, glaring at the afternoon sunlight. Christ. _Afternoon_. And they had been at it like rabbits in spring. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Spy left then, shutting the door quietly. Sniper waited for a couple of seconds before rising out of bed, bleary and sore and, god, covered with bite marks, all over his shoulders and down to his thighs and feet. Spy can berate him all he wants for his dirty talk, but when push came to shove, Spy wasn’t holding back either.

His cock gave a hopeful twitch and Sniper practically had to stare it down into submission.

“Oh no, you aren’t. Today I’m going to be fucking useful for once.”

  


* * *

  


  
Sniper remembered his younger days as an idiot teenager, so horny that he was almost desperate enough to hump everything is sight. It was sort of like what he was going through right now, only that it was _just_ Spy. That was the part that bothered him the most. He could look at Medic or Scout or Demoman or whoever and not feel a thing, but as soon as Spy stepped into the picture, Sniper was reduced to flinging and rubbing himself on the other man. He even looked forward to fighting the enemy spy to see if his theory was right.

Eventually, the enemy spy did come around and Sniper got a nasty hold on the guy and ripped his shirt off.

“I’m going to fuck you senseless,” Sniper deadpanned.

The enemy spy fell deathly silent and then redoubled his efforts of trying to pry off Sniper’s grip. Sniper kept his hold on for a little longer before letting go. Nothing. So he didn’t have some sort of weird fetish for spies. It was just the one on his team.

“Nah, I just kidding, mate,” he said to the frantic spy. “Off you go.”

The enemy spy darted out the door and Sniper believed that he never saw the guy again, at least not for a very long time.

  


* * *

  


  
The six o’clock slot on Spy’s schedule was left conspicuously open. Sniper tried to think on it and figured that Spy might be using the time to eat dinner or do whatever spies did for fun. All the paper had was a question mark and very honest ‘I don’t know’ scrawled next to it. Sniper found it understandable that Spy wouldn’t have planned his whole day and night on the spot, given the circumstances. If they just avoided their respective rooms, any empty hallways and closets, Sniper assumed that they would be fine.

Perhaps not with the most brilliant showing of intelligence, Sniper went into the team locker room to take a shower. A bit of dirt never bothered him, but he hadn’t cleaned himself for the last two days, having been distracted with Spy. God, there was probably dried cum on his legs or something from this morning too. And now that he noticed it, it was going to be a problem. Skipping out on the shower was a definite no-go.

The fact that no one was in the locker room lulled Sniper into a false sense of security. He grabbed his soap and shampoo, making his way to the corner shower. Five minutes. What could happen in five minutes? It could be three, if Sniper hurried.

He was rinsing the last of the soap off his body when Spy came into the room in nothing but his mask and a towel wrapped low around his hips. Sniper closed his eyes, feeling his shoulders tense. He should have known.

“Well, shit,” Spy sighed, snapping his towel off. The sound made Sniper swing his head and even if someone had held a gun to his temple, he would have not been able to look away. “Don’t run too fast, I wouldn’t want you to slip.”

Sniper ended up slipping anyway. But that was okay. He fell on Spy with a satisfying smack of wet skin, hot water, and cool tile. Settling himself to fit over Spy’s body, he took a moment to lay there, head resting in the curve of his neck. The thought of running into Spy after a whole day of not having sex was actually frightening. The abstinence had to last. Maybe if Sniper took it slowly, instead of wanting to fuck Spy like a meat grinder, they could make it out of the shower.

“Whatever happened to our agreement?” Spy asked, miffed, but Sniper could feel his hard cock between them and Spy hand had made its way to the small of Sniper’s back, rubbing gently.

“We were doing good,” Sniper protested, brushing his hand over Spy’s chest. At Spy’s hitched breath, he abruptly remembered that Spy reacted wonderfully to that sort of treatment (he had found out just last night), so Sniper could not restrain himself from running his teeth over Spy’s nipple and tweaking the other with his fingers.

“Oh,” Spy gasped, and it was really lovely the way he brought his legs up to wrap around Sniper’s waist. “Merde, I can’t even—“ and it wasn’t long before Sniper had him screaming, “A-ah! More, _dammit_, more.”

It was all so loud, their cries echoing off the shower room. A part of Sniper loved it, shuddering over Spy, semen sliding off their bodies into the shower drain. It took him a moment to see the tiny pink rivulets of blood running down Spy’s body. Sniper sat up, drawing away when Spy curiously inspected them.

“Jesus, I didn’t mean to,” he said, embarrassed. Obviously Spy didn’t mind them, but it was all a matter of their unspoken sex decorum, as strange as it sounded. Sniper never bruised or cut on purpose, and he thought he had enough control over himself not to break flesh with his teeth, but this week was proving to be full of harrowing new kinks for the both of them. Spy _had_ been considerably louder, and Sniper was pretty sure he knew what begging sounded like, no matter what language it was screamed in.

“I think you should leave,” Spy said slowly, “before I realize that I like being bitten until I bleed.” His eyes were getting darker and darker by the second and it freaked Sniper out as much as it turned him on.

Jesus fucking Christ, what were they becoming? Sexual timers?

Sniper could not get out of the showers fast enough, especially not after he caught a glimpse of Spy licking the bite mark Sniper had given him on his wrist. Letting out an involuntary moan, he slammed the locker room doors shut and thought briefly of locking Spy in there so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the other man, but Sniper squared his shoulders.

He was going to solve this problem like a rational adult. A rational adult with a growing erection. Bloody hell, Spy had looked downright irresistible back there.

Sniper keened quietly and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.

Okay. Baby steps.  He’ll solve the problem _after_ he screwed Spy. Again.

  


* * *

  


  
It wasn’t hard to isolate himself in his nest, pile the furniture high against the door so that no one could get in or out. The problems were few and far in between; Sniper had packed enough food and water to last a couple of days, and he could work from his spot. There shouldn’t have been any reason for him and Spy to mindlessly attack each other, especially when there was a physical barricade between them. It was going good. Sniper had to wank off a few times at night, but anything was better than having that uncontrollable desire to fuck Spy onto every horizontal surface possible. Hell, horizontal or vertical, it probably didn’t matter. Shit, and even just thinking about it—

“Sniper? Are you in there?”

“Ah, fuck,” Sniper groaned, his pants already down to his knees. He glared at the makeshift barricade, cursing it’s very existence and alternatively congratulating himself for the idea. “What are you doing here?”

He heard Spy lean against the door outside, wooden boards creaking.

“I think it would be a good idea to see Medic for our… condition.”

The very thought of having to tell Medic made Sniper’s face burn, but apparently the embarrassment wasn’t enough to kill his boner. Shame.

“No way, mate,” Sniper said, “What the hell is he going to say anyway? It’s not like this is some sort of disease.”

Spy didn’t answer for a long time, but Sniper heard a faint scratching at the door.

“What are you doing?” Sniper asked, knowing full well that he was going to regret it. It was like his all his will power turned into dust.

“Mm. I’m thinking about how I’m _not_ going to crawl all over you, strip you of everything you’re wearing and let you fuck me for the rest of the night.”

And suddenly, the barricade was Sniper’s number one enemy.

“What are you _not_ going to do to me, Sniper?”

Piss. The barricade was not his enemy, Spy was.

“I’m definitely _not_ going to grab all over you, shove you against the wall with your arse sticking out so that I can screw you until the tears start pouring out of your eyes and still, you’ll be screaming for more,” Sniper said, grunting as he started pushing the tables and bookshelf away. “Yeah, really _not_ thinking about running my teeth down your chest like that other night, sucking away at your shoulder while you jerk yourself off. Like what you’re doing right now, right?”

Spy gave an audible moan from outside and Sniper had to momentarily prop himself up against the wall before pulling away another piece of the blockade.

“What, are you moving furniture in there?” Spy asked, laughing shakily.

“Actually…” Sniper drawled, kicking aside the last of the obstacles. He opened the door to have Spy instantly latch on, thrusting away like a hapless dog.

Sniper fell over, staring distantly at the ceiling and wondering how on earth everything came to this.

  


* * *

  


  
“This is all your fault,” Sniper snapped after another sleepless night.

“_My_ fault?” Spy hissed, furious, “I was already on my way to leave and then you had to be sitting on my clothes.”

“Oh, don’t even start,” Sniper said, angrily pulling up his trousers. “Your clothes weren’t the only thing you were reaching for. You know, this wouldn’t have happened if you'd just stayed out of my nest last night!”

Spy, already dressed for the most part, grabbed Sniper’s shoe and threw it at him. If Sniper had been thinking clearly, he would have found it childish. Instead, Sniper used his other shoe to hurl back at Spy.

“I wanted for us to go see Medic!” Spy said, voice rising. He ducked unsuccessfully and the shoe hit him on the shoulder. “My suit!”

“If you wanted to see Medic, then you should have gone by yourself!” Sniper shouted back, “And quit whining about your suit, it can’t get any worse than it is now.”

“You want to see worse, jar-man?” Spy sneered, taking off his jacket and pointing to his ragged shirt, “Look what _you_ did. I’m missing buttons because of you.”

Sniper’s eyes narrowed and he pulled at the collar of his own shirt, revealing tiny tears and holes at the seams. “Isn’t that bloody tragic? Your fucking demon nails destroyed my shirt!”

“Fuck you!” Spy said, his apparent frustration clear through his lack of imaginative insults. Or lack of pants.

Sniper pulled off his shirt, flinging it to the ground. “Fucking hell, now look what you did!”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and bend over right now!”

Needless to say, they kept the argument up way longer than necessary. Days even. It wasn’t so much that they were still angry at each other—it was more of the hate sex being so good. Originally, they’d never had a decent reason to fight, what with Spy being a sort of polite fellow and the fact that Sniper had a pretty even temper to begin with. But now they were looking for arguments, anything from a forgotten weapon left out or a glance in the wrong direction. It lasted until it became violent enough that they started waking up in the respawn room. Both of them were quite shaken and horrified after that and quickly moved on to gentle make-up sex.

To be honest, Sniper thought that the both of them had pretty much resigned themselves for now, too mentally tired to care. The sex was generally fantastic, even if it was horribly inconvenient and Sniper was torn between animalistic want and the rationale of _this-shit-has-got-to-stop_. It had been bad before, but now it was starting to seriously interfere with their work; concentration, stamina, memory, battle comprehension, common_ fucking_ sense. Boom. Out the window.

“All right. I think we really do need to see Medic,” Sniper said one afternoon, weary and feeling vaguely sick. Blisters were always a bad sign.

Spy was in bad shape himself, bags under his eyes and hands trembling from exhaustion. He fell back against the pillows, mumbling, “Thank god.”

  


* * *

  


  
“—right. Any surface in the base, you name it; we’ve probably had sex on it,” Sniper explained, past the point of feeling embarrassed.

Medic started to stare at his desk in a very concerned manner. “I _really_ hope you didn’t—“

“Twice,” Spy said flatly, taking a seat on one of the beds in the ward, “And there’s going to be a third time soon if you don’t help us.”

Medic quickly brought out a bottle of disinfectant and scowled. He was a no-nonsense type of guy and Sniper was mildly impressed and thankful that he didn’t find the whole situation hilarious.

“I find this hilarious.”

_Damn it._

“It doesn’t matter if you find it hilarious or not,” Spy said, now lounging in the bed with his hands behind his head. Sniper tried not to look.

“Well, obviously you two are making progress,” Medic said with one eyebrow raised. The bastard probably thought it was all a joke. “I don’t see you two going at each other yet.”

Sniper threw up his arms, “For the love of—that’s because we wanked off about a dozen times before we got here!”

Medic rolled his eyes, “Impossible. You are exaggerating.”

“Yeah, try telling our dicks that, mate.”

Medic only shook his head and started spraying his desk. “I do not have time for this nonsense. Really now, you two are last I'd expect to pull this sort of thing.”

Sniper was very close to punching Medic. He glanced at Spy for help, but that got nowhere fast with the way Spy had his legs spread slightly apart, practically an invitation to do him in bed. But it wasn’t like Spy could help it, the same way Sniper couldn’t help throwing the Frenchman dirty suggestive looks. His hand strayed to the zipper of his pants.

“Ah… I see,” Medic said, drawing out the last word as if he was beginning to realize how serious their problem was. He snapped his fingers twice to grab their attention. “Eyes on me, gentlemen.”

Sniper swallowed, turning his head away from Spy to focus on Medic. “Sorry.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

“Hands off your pants, Herr Sniper,” Medic finally snapped, “And sit up straight, Herr Spy. None of that in my ward or I will solve this problem by castration, thank you.”

Sniper and Spy did as they were told with a little more meekness than what they would have liked to have shown. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Medic opened a drawer and pulled out two folders. “I suppose I’ll start with a check-up.”

“May we do it separately?” Spy asked with a hint of hysteria straining his voice and, shit, did it turn Sniper on.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding furiously. He was starting to feel ill with just the thought of having sex with Spy, though it was clear the lower portion of his body thought otherwise.

“Yes, I have a feeling it would be better that way,” Medic said dryly, “especially for me.”

He paused warily, mouth twitching into a very unhappy frown. “But I will most likely need a sample of semen from the both of—_ach mein Gott_!” he exclaimed, hastily getting up from his chair, “At least let me leave the room first—” and exited out of the ward, slamming the door behind him.

  


* * *

  


  
By the time Medic returned, Sniper was in one corner of the room while Spy had locked himself in one of Medic’s supply closets. The doctor looked despairingly at his destroyed ward, but silently held out his hand. Sniper gave Medic two vials and left the room. Obviously Spy would get the check-up first.

  


* * *

  


  
“There is nothing physically wrong with the two of you,” Medic concluded, talking to what seemed to be the closet and a psychotic patient in a straightjacket. “Aside from the bruising and cuts, of course, but I have a good idea where those came from.”

Sniper didn’t even bother to struggle, and he was quiet happy with his restraints. It was for the best since he climbed onto Spy four times while Medic tried to debrief them on their check-ups. Oh, his dad would have had a good laugh at this. Crazed gunman indeed.

“You must be joking,” Spy said, muffled from his self-imprisonment in the closet, “_Look_ at us.”

“Physically there is nothing wrong,” Medic continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “and I do not claim to be a psychiatrist, but I believe this is a sort of mind condition you two have.”

“I ain’t crazy, if that’s what you mean,” Sniper said, “You know me, doc.”

“Ja,” Medic said skeptically.

The straightjacket was probably the biggest flaw in Sniper’s argument, but Sniper _knew_ he wasn’t crazy. Because if he was, then that would mean Spy was crazy, and having two crazies suffering from the same mental disorder seemed pretty sketchy to Sniper. Besides, the both of them were pretty rational people when not around each other. At least, Sniper hoped so.

“And you say that you two are just, ah… fuck-buddies?” Medic asked.

“Right,” Sniper said, “Just two professionals with the occasional business arrangements.”

Spy made a noise of agreement, though Sniper's overactive sex drive was calling it a pleading moan. “A romantic relationship between two co-workers would be amateurish, would it not?”

Medic took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. “Oh, I see how it is now.”

“What?” Sniper prompted, leaning forward when Medic only propped an elbow against the desk and rested his chin in his hand.

“Has it ever occurred to you two that you might _like_ each other?”

There was a laugh from the closet. “Of course we like each other.”

“We wouldn’t be having sex if we didn’t,” Sniper added bluntly. Honestly, Medic should have been smart enough to have figured that out.

Medic continued to look bored. “Well. I mean ‘like’ as in you two ought to be in a romantic relationship of some sort.”

Sniper gave him a blank stare and judging from the absolute silence from the closet, Spy must have been doing the same, albeit from a tiny crack through the opening.

Sighing, Medic waved a hand in the air and clarified, “Lovers. Boyfriends. Liebhaber.”

Something fell inside the closet with a loud crash and Spy was yelling, “No!”

“That’s crazy,” Sniper agreed strongly, “Way too unprofessional. We have standards.”

“Have either of you held hands? Kissed? Called each other pet names?” Medic asked, not even blinking. He fiddled some more with his glasses before putting them back on. If Sniper wasn’t so shocked and disgusted, he would have thought that the German was enjoying himself.

“Pet names? Holding hands?” Sniper echoed, “What are we, kids?”

“We’ve kissed,” Spy said indignantly, poking his head out. “Without having to shove your tongue down Sniper’s throat?” Medic shot back easily.

Spy seemed to retreat back into the closet like a turtle, muttering under his breath.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t give you anymore than that,” Medic said briskly, writing something in their folders.

Sniper craned his neck, sneaking a look. He didn’t get very far with the straightjacket, but he did catch one or two words. “What do you mean ‘denial’?” he spluttered, “And ‘reverse progression relationship’? What the hell does that mean?”

Medic scowled, closing the folders and tucking them back into the drawer. “It means what it means, Herr Sniper. Now kindly stop wasting my time and remove yourself from my ward, and take your boyfriend with you.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Sniper swore, standing up, which was a little difficult with his arms slung and wrapped around his body. He didn’t want to argue with Medic though. The doctor looked ready to start sawing important body parts off. He shuffled over to the closet, nudging the door open with his foot. “C’mon,” he grunted to Spy.

Disheveled and looking upset, Spy crawled out from the closet. They kept their distance while walking out of the ward but as soon as they saw—or their bodies saw, whatever—that the hallway was empty, Spy was already pressing up against Sniper, removing the straightjacket with an intent look.

“Can you believe what that bloody Medic said?” Sniper growled, shrugging off the jacket. He was instantly pinned against the wall, Spy’s breath hot against his cheek.

“Hmph,” Spy said disdainfully, “I do not know what he was thinking, suggesting we do those childish displays. What was that? Holding hands?” He sniffed and took a step back, grabbing Sniper’s hand and letting it swing between them. “I do not see how this would—“

It was as if a bell chimed in their heads. They glanced down at their intertwined hands and Sniper felt the fiery hot burn in the pit of his stomach subside a little. It was replaced by heat rushing to his face.

“What are you blushing for?” Spy asked, frowning.

“Uh, I guess it feels nice,” Sniper admitted, allowing his grip to tighten. They started to walk down the hallway. Thinking of what Medic said, Sniper slowed a little to lean over and peck Spy quickly on the cheek, just where the balaclava’s edge showed skin.

He’d never seen Spy turn that red before.

“Now look who’s blushing,” Sniper said innocently. Spy gave a soft groan of embarrassment and, for once, Sniper didn’t feel the insatiable need to grind the Frenchman to the floor. It was like a warm glow of contentment had surrounded them and, good grief, that was way too corny for Sniper’s tastes.

“What was the third thing Medic said?” he asked.

“Endearments?” Spy said with noticeable recoil.

They exchanged glances. Sniper ran through a quick mental list; sweetheart, darling, honey, and pudding were all awful. Spy looked like he was doing the same thing, expression turning pained as the seconds rolled pass.

“We’ll do that later. One step at a time, right, love?”

That earned him a wry smile from Spy.

“If you say so, mon amour.”


End file.
